


Caprice to Breathe

by LamentingQuill



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Not DH-compliant, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-08
Updated: 2013-01-08
Packaged: 2017-11-24 03:16:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/629754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LamentingQuill/pseuds/LamentingQuill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Minerva works through some lingering issues in the wake of Albus's death. Remus helps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caprice to Breathe

** Caprice to Breathe **

by

_Lamenting Quill_

 

* * *

 

 

She had often wondered what it would be like to sit and watch a spider weave his web from start to finish. Now she found herself with little choice. She watched as he spun with such ease, gracefully and artfully creating a silken masterpiece just outside the window. The sun was shining through the nearly transparent strands illuminating them and making them seem surreal. She watched as the spider finished his handy work and moved to the side of his web, waiting for some poor unfortunate insect to fly into his trap. She nearly choked on the irony.

Severus Snape had lured them all into his web. She had been foolish to trust him, but she had trusted the man he killed far too much to not believe in Severus’s loyalties. Her misjudgement left her cold and bitter, and she swallowed down her guilt to rest with the grief that lay at the bottom of her stomach; contained, yet not forgotten. She had no time for such things. She was now the headmistress of a school she had once loved, yet now despised. Its walls that had once been filled with laughter and contentment now left her empty and wanting. The hope that she once had now rested on the grounds, still and unmoving, encased in white marble.

She, better than anyone, had known the revered Albus Dumbledore to be nothing but a mortal man, contrary to popular belief. Though somehow, she had never been able to imagine there would come a day when she would be without his presence. It had been the one constant in her life, and now she was left to desperately cling to the shattered pieces of her sanity. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. He wasn’t supposed to die and leave her with the weight of the school resting more heavily on her chest than she could have deemed possible. He wasn’t supposed to leave her.

Yet he had never promised her he’d stay. She had loved him, yes, but they had never been lovers. She couldn’t even say if her love was of friendship, or something more. It was perhaps a mere wish of something she had never known, with the one man whom had never left her. That is, until now. No, it hadn’t been intentional, but she still could not dispel the hint of betrayal that lingered on the tips of her subconscious, as inane as it may have been.

She was angry with him, yes, but mostly she was angry with herself for placing so much of herself within him, for not seeking more from him than his friendship, for trusting in his trust. When he died, dreams she hadn’t been aware of possessing died with him, and she couldn’t fight the loneliness that left her insensate. She missed him, and she hated herself for her feelings.

She was numb. She realised that she had been for several years now. Somewhere along the twisted streets of obligations and responsibilities to her profession she had lost her passion. She had lost the feel of being a woman, and it was a feeling she now sorely missed. She was more than conservative clothes and strictness. She was more than a severe and formidable witch with her hair always in a bun. She was more than what she had allowed herself to become, yet she couldn’t find that part of herself any longer. It had been left somewhere along the intersection of duties and fears, just past the valley of broken dreams.

She was startled out of her sickening melancholy by a knock at the door. It was the knock that she had been awaiting. She vainly and unsuccessfully tried to smooth the wrinkles of her tired face as she voiced her consent to entry. As the man came through the door, she was startled by the feeling of longing that surged through her veins – new, unbidden and unwelcome. It took her by complete surprise and left her feeling highly disturbed, as well as reluctantly aroused. No one could deny the good looks and simple charms of the kind and sensitive man that had just entered her office, and she had never attempted to do such a thing. Her vulnerability and desire to feel again were apparently wreaking havoc on her good-sense.

He was untouchable, and she had never before desired to touch him. But now she found herself gripping the arms of her chair in effort not to reach out for him, desperate for feeling the warmth a man could offer against her numbed flesh. She found herself thinking his hands to be more than capable. What had she become? What had Albus done to her – or better yet – what had she done to herself? She was no spider, spinning webs to catch unsuspecting prey. Yet, she couldn’t help thinking he would look ravishing in silk.

“Good evening, Minerva,” he said, his voice soft and gentle as it always seemed to be. “How are you feeling?”

She wished she knew. “I am alive. I suppose that must count for something,” she replied, trying to keep her expression neutral. She was trying to keep her thoughts trained on her duties, to ignore the pressing longing that was stretching its warm tendrils across her frigid resolve, attempting to squeeze it until it burst at the seams.

“I would say it counts for rather a lot these days,” he replied, a hint of sadness marring his amber eyes. “I assume you did not call me here on a social visit, Minerva? Not that I would be opposed to spending my time in such enchanting company.”

She fought the chills that raced down her spine at his words, even though she knew he was merely being kind, for she was well aware that her company was anything but enchanting. “No, I fear this is not a social visit, Remus,” she said, and allowed the smallest of smiles to flicker briefly upon her thin lips. “I have asked you here today to offer you a proposition.” She suppressed her mind’s urge to explore the different implications of her recent statement, and focused instead on his expression, which was one of knowing and barely concealed turmoil.

“You know that I have important work for the Order, Minerva. I’m in no position to devote the time needed to be a professor here. Add to that the fact that parents would hardly be pleased, I think you know my answer.” His words were neither harsh or reproving, but mild and apologetic.

She nodded, having anticipated this response. “I am aware of your position with the Order, Remus, as I am also aware of the situation with the parents. Neither will be an issue. We both know there will hardly be the number of students at Hogwarts this year as there normally are. As for the parents of those who will attend, their child’s teacher being a werewolf will be the least of their worries, and seem quite miniscule compared to the threat of not waking to another day.” As he started to interrupt her, she continued.

“Your work for the Order will not be a problem because of the decrease of students. We will arrange your classes so that you are teaching only two days a week. You will teach two of the Houses in one day, and then the other two in the next. I would not ask this of you, Remus, if it were not important. I think you know that. Those students need someone who will teach them what they will need to know in this war. It may be a day very soon when they are out of their classes and on the battlefield. It is your decision, and I will understand if you decline. I only ask that you please think about it seriously.”

She watched him silently as he kept his brows furrowed, thinking over the words she had just said. She hoped that she had gotten through to him, and at the same time she hoped he would say no. She wasn’t sure what these feelings were that she was experiencing for him, and she was afraid to find out. Several moments passed in this manner, her trying not to let her thoughts wander, and then cursing herself when they did. She tried not to stare at his lips, the subtle pink hue tempting her, calling to her. She imagined what they would feel like against her own, then against her skin. She could imagine them forming her name, could imagine his voice speaking it softly. And then she realised he was.

“…Minerva? Are you alright?”

She gave a slight nod, willing herself not to blush. She never blushed. Remus eyed her suspiciously, though he asked her no questions, for which she was thankful.

He gave a small sigh, as though about to go into something he knew he wouldn’t make it out of alive. “Alright, I’ll do it.”

She smiled. “Thank you. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate this, Remus. I look forward to seeing you at the start of term.”

He nodded as he stood to leave. “Minerva….” His voice held awkwardness, and something that seemed to be a mix of trepidation and concern. “I know how close you and Albus were, and I just wanted to say that if you should ever like to talk about it, I would be willing to listen.”

She felt his kindness wash over her like warm waves and allowed her posture to slump, just slightly, in her chair. “Thank you, Remus. I appreciate that.”

He smiled at her in understanding and bade her goodnight.

As she watched the door close behind him, she let out a long sigh, of relief or agony she wasn’t sure. Her feelings and thoughts had betrayed her and had her longing for someone she couldn’t have – that she shouldn’t have. He was once her student, once and again her colleague, her compatriot in the Order and the war effort, and involved with a woman half his own age. He would never look at her with anything akin to desire, and she shouldn’t want that of him. But she did, and she hated herself for that, too.

 

* * *

 

 Minerva sipped her tea through nervous lips. The professors were to arrive today to start preparing for the school year. She was nervous, yes, but for all the wrong reasons. She was not nervous about being the new headmistress, having to tend to all the professors and the school business. She had done it plenty as deputy. No, she was nervous about seeing him again. She had thought of him often in the month since their last meeting, and it chilled her. He tormented her in her dreams with lavish kisses and heated caresses, and it sickened her. Yes, she had wanted to feel again. It was just another reminder that one should always be mindful of what they wished.

She looked up to the staffroom door as it opened, and for one moment she was caught between hope and fear, before realising it was just her newest Potions professor and deputy, Joseph Stenton. He was a tall, proud man with greying black hair. His eyes were an intriguing mixture of brown and blue swirled together. He was much like her, in that he was the stern and no nonsense type who put his work before everything else. She almost felt like warning him that this particular trait would only leave him frigid and acrimonious. She refrained however, for she would be revealing too much about herself to a man she hardly knew, and the thought didn’t tempt her.

They said their greetings but nothing else. It was only business talk between them and she preferred it that way. Each time the door opened she found herself looking for Remus, only to be disappointed and yet relieved. He would be the last one to enter, as everyone else was already present. When she heard the creak of the door, her heart lodged itself in her throat. She choked it down when he greeted her, and offered him a hint of a smile. It was back to business, there were things that needed to be discussed about the school year. There would be time enough for her traitorous mind to torment her later, but now, she was the headmistress, not the salacious woman that he made her.

As she voiced her various concerns and changes to be made to the curriculum for this year, she caught his eye, and for a moment she thought she had seen a flicker of yearning. She cursed her imagination, for it was surely her mind playing tricks. She brushed it off and continued her speech, training her eyes on the parchment before her. She valiantly suppressed her unexplainable bitterness when she brought up the next topic of the meeting: Security. Aurors were to be placed throughout the castle and its grounds to protect the school and those within its walls. One of the Aurors who had been assigned was none other than Nymphadora Tonks. Minerva had no right to be jealous. However, that didn’t negate the fact that she was.

Once the staff meeting was over everyone began socialising. She replied cordially to those who deigned it necessary to comment to her on various things, though she wasn’t truly paying attention. Her eyes kept drifting over to where Remus stood, engaged in conversation with Filius. She felt her desire for him raise with each glance, and then her guilt push it back once more. She was lusting after another woman’s man. She was lusting after a man young enough to be her son. But was she? Or was she merely lusting after the want to be wanted? She realised with striking clarity that she had wanted Albus to want her but he never had, not in that way. He had wanted her to be loyal to him, to trust him. He had wanted her advice on professors and class schedules. Occasionally he wanted her opinion on what to wear to a Ministry event. He had wanted her to share in his beliefs of how the school should function, so when the time came, she could run it the way he thought it should be. He wanted her in every way but the one she had craved.

The room seemed to be getting smaller, the people talking getting louder, yet somehow further away. She was overcome with the caprice to breathe. She stood abruptly from her chair, ignoring the curious and worried glances of her colleagues, and she bolted from the room. She wished she could escape from herself, but as she had yet to find a way to accomplish that particular task she settled instead for escaping the castle walls. As the first blast of cool late-August air struck her face when she stepped out on the grounds, she breathed a sigh of relief as it filled her aching lungs. She walked briskly around to the far side of the lake, standing and looking at the black waves as they gently lapped the shore.

She felt her grief, her anger, her resentment toward Albus, so long repressed, fighting like a caged lion trying to escape. Finally, she could suppress it no longer and she screamed. A loud, piercing scream of everything she was feeling. It was a scream of grief, of frustration and betrayal; a scream of pent up passion, of feelings never returned. It was a scream of regrets, of lamentation and contrite. She screamed for what she had lost, yet even more for what she had never gained. She cursed Albus Dumbledore, but she cursed her weakness more. In the silence after her outburst she could hear a faint ringing in her ears, as a bell being rung from a country church in mourning. She felt the tears she had forgotten herself capable of shedding slide down her cheeks, and she hated herself for those as well.

She felt ugly, old, and unlovable. She felt used and betrayed. She felt like a fool. Albus had caused her this emotional turmoil, and she wanted so much to despise him for it but she couldn’t. She snapped her head up quickly as she heard the fracturing of a twig, and her eyes widened as they met the shadowed ones of Remus Lupin. She didn’t want him to see her this way, standing in the shattered and jagged pieces of her self-control. His expression was one of softness and sadness, of compassion and understanding. She couldn’t bear to look at him; couldn’t bear for him to see the uncontrollable tears that trekked down her face, or the self-deprecation in her eyes.

“I’m sorry to intrude, Minerva. You left in a hurry; I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

She made no reply. She was afraid that if she opened her mouth she would scream again, and she didn’t think she could bear it twice. She turned her head further away from him as he took a step closer.

“My offer still stands. If you would like to talk, I’ll listen. If you would prefer to be alone I understand.”

She was torn. She didn’t really want to talk about it, yet she didn’t want him to go either. At the same time, she didn’t want him to stay. She was feeling confused and emotionally drained, like she had been stretched in a million different directions, pulled and tortured until she lingered only precariously on the edge of sanity. She was drawn back into reality as she heard him turn to leave, taking her silence as the desire to be alone. She reached out her hand quickly, grabbing his wrist. He turned to look at her but she couldn’t meet his eyes. “Stay,” she whispered, feeling like an open book, being read and studied thoroughly. She realised she had yet to release her hold on his wrist and let go quickly.

She was completely taken aback when she felt his hands rest gently on her arms, turning her toward him and pulling her up against his body, wrapping his arms around her. It was amazing how such a simple gesture could break the last thread of one’s self-control, and she found herself sobbing on his shoulder, crying in a way she hadn’t done in years. She was comforted by the sound of his soothing voice, whispering nonsensical words into the night. By the feel of his warm hand rubbing gentle circles on her back, sending sparks up her spine that burned through her lament and ignited the flames of her desires.

She found herself pouring her heart out to him, saying words aloud she had only recently said to herself. She told him how she had wanted Albus, how he had never wanted her. She told him of the anger, the betrayal and the guilt. She told him of lost dreams and broken wishes, of torn hope and daggered trust. She hid her face within the folds of his robes as she whispered her feelings, cursing herself all the while for her weakness, for letting down her guard and succumbing to her emotions. But she supposed, like Albus, she was only a mortal. “I feel so unwanted and worthless,” she finished, clinging to him as though he were her lifeline. She knew that he probably was.

“Hey,” he said quietly, speaking for the first time since she had started spilling her abstruse feelings to him. He pushed her away from him just enough to look into her tear-filled eyes, making her feel more self-conscious than she ever had before. “You are not worthless, Minerva McGonagall; far from it in fact. There are many who think more highly of you than I can say, and I am included in that number. You are an invaluable member to this school, to the Order, and to our world. Don’t ever, _ever_ think of yourself as worthless. And as for feeling unwanted,” he continued, his voice as soft as velvet to Minerva’s ears and just as pleasing, “any man would be a fool not to want you – greatest wizard of the age or not.”

The slight curve of a smile flickered through her tears, and her eyes widened slightly as Remus brought his hand up to brush away some of the fallen droplets. She was surprised that once the wetness on her cheeks was gone, his hand lingered still, stroking her cheek softly. She watched his face, seeing something there she didn’t quite recognise. Her mouth opened slightly in delight and shock when his fingers brushed over her lips. She was painfully aware of still being folded within his embrace, his hand still stroking her back, sending pleasant chills throughout her being.

She wasn’t sure who moved first. She couldn’t be certain who gave that last remaining inch of distance. She was only aware of the feeling of his lips on hers, pliant and wielding. Her eyes fell closed as she relished in the sensation. He pulled her as close to his body as was physically possible and she gasped, moaning as he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss. It was slow and gentle, passionate and needy – everything a kiss should be, yet everything it shouldn’t. With all the resolve she could muster she broke the glorious connection, panting and leaning her forehead against his. “We shouldn’t,” she whispered, though every beat of her racing heart screamed they should. She could feel his arousal pressing into her through layers of fabric and it left her breathless.

“We shouldn’t,” he conceded, his warm breath caressing her swollen lips.

She knew she should walk away, knew she should step out of his embrace, but she found she didn’t have the strength nor the will. She could see the desire swimming in his expressive eyes and it thrilled her to know that she had put it there. She allowed her trembling hand to slide from behind his neck, slowly across his shoulder and to come to a stop on his chest. He let out a feral growl and in one swift motion she found herself pinned against the nearest tree, those lips once more on hers, yet this time they were hungry and demanding. She groaned at the sheer intimacy and hunger in his assault.

Even as she knew she should be pushing him away, she felt her leg moving of its own volition to wrap around his hips, pulling him closer to where she wanted him the most. His hands were blazing a passionate trail up and down her sides, setting her on fire for him. She arched her back, pushing herself even further against him as his hands sensually messaged her breasts through her robes. She leaned her head back against the rough bark of the tree as he released her lips to trail open-mouthed kisses along her jaw and neck. She tried valiantly to find her strength once more, but it came out as a half moan, half pant of, “We need to stop.”

He moved his mouth to run his tongue along the shell of her ear, causing her to shiver. “We do,” he agreed, raising his hand above her head to her bun, pulling out the pins until her silky black tresses fell loose around her shoulders. He locked his long fingers in the strands and pulled her head back gently to look deeply into her eyes. “Tell me you want me to stop, and I will.”

She silently cursed his choice of words, and knew that they were intentional. They should stop and he knew it, but it most assuredly was not what she wanted. She responded by grinding her hips into his, enjoying the growl that escaped his throat. He released her hair for the buttons on her robes, and with each one he freed she felt her nervousness rise. Just before he could slide the garment off her shoulders, she placed her hands on top of his, stilling their movement. He looked at her questioningly. “I’m not pretty,” she whispered. It was the truth.

He smiled at her gently and kissed her slowly on the lips as he pushed her garment to the ground. He pulled back, sucking lightly on her bottom lip before releasing her, leaning back to look at her subtly quivering form.

She was standing in her bra and panties, her scars from the four stunners she’d taken in the chest illuminated in the moonlight, wild and grotesque. Her skin was pale, and she was beginning to feel the effects of gravity taking its toll on her body. She was painfully aware of every wrinkle that she bore, every imperfection that marred her once pristine flesh. She waited for him to walk away.

He let his hand travel down her bare shoulder, down her arm, stopping to grab her hand. He pulled it to his lips and kissed her palm as he murmured, “No, you’re not pretty, Minerva; you’re beautiful.”

And she was lost once more in his heated kisses, as her own fingers worked quickly to divest him of his own robes. She heard Remus mutter some incantations, and thanked Merlin he had the presence of mind to guard their location from prying eyes. It wouldn’t do to be discovered. It wasn’t long before they both stood before the other, naked and wanting, hazel pools lost in those of jade.

Remus let his hands slide over her heated flesh, trailing lightly over her shapely hips, ghosting up her stomach to cup her sensitive breasts, eliciting a moan for his efforts. She could hardly keep her eyes off of him; that expression of raw need in his features, his broad, strong shoulders and his lithe and muscular frame. She noticed that he had scars, too, and she found that they made her respect and want him more.

He paused in his ministrations to look into her eyes, his own blazing with a passion that left her weak. “Tell me what you want, Minerva,” he said lowly, his voice rich and husky, playing her nerves like a cello.

“I want to feel,” she whispered, delighting in the sensations of having him close, but it wasn’t enough.

He sank to the ground, pulling her with him and gently laying her down. She marvelled at the softness beneath her and wondered when he had conjured the blanket. But then his tongue was trailing across her collar bone, down to the valley between her breasts, and she found she didn’t care when the blanket had appeared. She gasped as he drew one of her hardened peaks into his delicious mouth, and let her hands travel desperately over every inch of his skin within her reach. His kisses were like butane to the smouldering embers of her desire, escalating them to a towering inferno.

She moaned and gasped, arched and tensed, as his fingers and mouth wreaked havoc on her senses. He was everything she needed, yet everything she didn’t. “Please, Remus,” she whispered, and she knew he understood. She opened herself up to him, and his eyes connected intensely with her own.

“You’re perfect, Minerva.” And his voice was so sincere that she almost believed him.

She dug her fingernails into his back as he entered her almost reverently. Once he was fully encased within her velvety walls, she tensed her muscles, revelling in his obvious enjoyment at the action. And then he was moving. With each delicate thrust he pushed her numbness further and further away, leaving her with feelings so strong she was nearly overcome. It was bliss, and she left the darkened place that she had been residing in for far too long for the bright and shining shores of ecstasy.

Her eyes locked with his and he quickened his pace, driving her closer and closer to the precipice. She longed to find her release, and yet she wished it was further away. She wasn’t ready for it to end, not yet. Really, it never should have begun.

“Mmm… Minerva.”

His voice was deep and throaty, and somehow hearing her name fall from those skilful lips sent waves of pleasure rippling across her, heightening her senses were that even possible. She tightened her inner muscles around him, thoroughly enjoying the gasp it elicited. “Remus…. Say it again,” she panted, her face screwing up in pleasure as the passion threatened to claim her.

He placed his lips against her ear and whispered her name once more, hot and breathy, and she could hold on no longer. She arched her back with a flexibility she hadn’t known she possessed as the tremors wracked her frame. She dimly registered Remus’s guttural utterance and the fragmentation of his movements as he, too, was overpowered by the feeling.

He was resting on top of her, his breathing ragged and sweating. He lazily pushed a few stray strands of her hair that was clinging to her sweat-dampened face behind her ear, and then started to move off of her. She draped her leg on top of him, keeping him there, still inside of her. She feared the emptiness she would feel when he withdrew. “Stay,” she whispered. He lightly traced her features with his fingers, as though trying to remember every freckle, every wrinkle, every worry line, before kissing her thoroughly and languidly. They both knew that he couldn’t stay.

She hated herself for asking.

 

 


End file.
